These Satires
were written in the context of the online roleplaying game Ghostletters, in a storyline
involving an historical serial killer and a number of fantasy characters. If
you weren't part of the storyline, some of the songs may not make sense to you.
However, feel free to adapt them to fit anybody you are peeved with yourself.
That's what I did.

[Thalia is the Greek Muse
of Comedy, physically incarnated as a Greek woman who is at the moment very very
angry.]

Public Announcement

One called Ed
Gein has traduced the honor of my Chosen Bartender, Jack O'Brian; has trespassed
upon and befouled the Holy Environs of The Guinness; and has furthermore threatened
with bodily harm both Jack and those he loves. Therefore I, Thalia, Divine Muse
of Comedy, with each of my Known Sisters, both of my Unknown Sisters, and all
the spirits of the Makers, do pronounce upon him the Bardic Curse, that his
name ring in Satire until the smallest infant and the feeblest granny snigger
at the mention of him, and he will be haunted even in Hell by the giggling of
all the demons.

So Be It.

Installment #1 (To the
tune of a World War II song about Hitler's jewels)

Ed Gein
has only got one ball!
Maybe
that should be "None at all!"
He sez
He wants pieces -
Cause he can't get
a live piece
at all!

Ed Gein
won't even have one ball
If Mary
has any say at all.
She sez
She'll give him pieces -
And he can stew in
his very
own gall! Ad lib at will!

Stay tuned ...
Thalia

[Thalia is the
Greek Muse of Comedy, usually Incarnate as a lively and cheerful Greek woman.
Right now the curls of her black hair are very reminiscent of her relationship
to the Furies.]

Oh, GeinGarbage!

All
children are dear to the Muse of Comedy!

In
fact, I was passing by Jack's today and heard a ten-year old boy singing,

"Edgein
has only got
one ball!"

loudly and cheerfully.

Delightful.

You
probably haven't noticed, dear, because I know you are illiterate and your brain
consists of sewage, but a large number of well-armed entities are targeted on
you Right Now. There really is no time to do justice to your perverted little
dreams.

You'd
do much better to run like Hell.

You
know Ellie doesn't want you. You've been playing with guts, you never bathe,
you were ugly to begin with, and your Mama dresses you funny.

And here's Installment
#2:

A horse is a
horse of course of course
And no-one can talk to a horse of course
That is of course unless the horse
Is the horse's-ass Mr. Ed!

Go right to the source and ask the horse
You'll notice he's dumb as oats of course
And always short of intercourse
The horse's-ass Mr. Ed!

Thank
you.

I'm
sending CD's to all the radio stations. If you hurry, maybe you can catch me.

Tag! You're Stupid!
Thalia

[Thalia is the
Greek Muse of Comedy, currently Incarnate as a wickedly angry Greek woman with
a caustic tongue, who wants her Guinness.]

To the Sewage Surfer
-

Do
you know how many of my Bards and Poets are among the streetpeople? All too
damn many, that's what. This culture has less taste than overcooked grits.
And YOU have regarded them as so much horrorfodder,
to be used for Effect!
Now I know that you are dense and illiterate and your
brain is rotting and running out of your ears to get away from your thoughts,
which is distracting to you, which is why you haven't replied to any of my posts.
Besides knowing that you are no match for Me. After all, you can't even handle
a mortal woman without using a knife. But I want you to know that my feelings
are not hurt, and in fact, I have located some girlfriends for you. It was difficult.
But the female demons in Hell have absolutely no taste whatsoever, and they
are expecting you to give them some. They are licking their chops.
In the meantime, one of my Street Bards has written
Installment

#3, Just For You:

The Unfillable
Jar

(To a tune in the musical
"Man of La Mancha". If you can't guess which one - don't try to sing it.)

To dream of
the impossible scream
To be the unrightable wrong
To give the unbearable sorrow
To lust and never perform

To reach the
unreachable low
To run and hide, and run more
To try without one ounce of courage
To fill The Unfillable Jar

This is my quest to
fill up my Jar
With pieces of bodies because I'm bizarre
To fight for the wrong without logic or sense
To be willing to march into Hell 'cause I'm pitifully
dense

And I know if
I'll only be true
To this infamous quest
That my heart will lie stinking and black
When it's ripped from my chest
And the world will be better for this
That one scorned for very good cause
Is dead and gone naked to Judgement
And fills The Unfillable Jar!

Thank
you.

By
the way, I dropped in on one of my Poets up in Seattle, and I saw a Punk Rock
group performing "The Horse's Ass Mr. Ed" on Public Access TV. Isn't that just
precious?
Maybe you should go tell them to stop. Go "wugga wugga"
at them.

Stay tuned...
Thalia

From: Ed
Gein
Persona: A real-life, notorious serial/cannibal killer
of the 1950's who became the basis for Norman Bates ("Psycho"), Leatherface
("Texas Chainsaw Massacre"), and Buffalo Bill ("Silence of the Lambs").
To: Thalia

Yer an idiot. Shut up.

Ed

[Thalia is the
Greek Muse of Comedy. She interprets her Mission broadly.]

Oh Crud Creature!

Thank
you so much for your note. It was everything that I expected of you.
I know. You think, "All that Thalia can do is sing songs
at me, and since I'm tone deaf I don't have to listen."
But what you have not thought, Oh Crudly One, (because
thinking does hurt you so you poor dear), is that even though I have fullest
access to the minds of those who have adopted me as their Muse, I have SOME
access to ALL minds. Yes, even though all humanity would
like to disown you, as they shudder to hear that there are tiny lice in their
eyelashes and do not recognize their own bellylint, you ARE human. And all humanity
shares That Which Is Called the Collective Unconscious. Which means that every
one of you is about as unconscious as the next dodo, but the communists are
more so. It also means that what is in any human mind can leak into others through
underground passages, variously called The Springs of Poetry and The Sewage
System.
And, even though I am not your Muse, and the likelihood
of my ever being your Muse is almost as microinfinitismally small as the likelihood
of Ellie ever kissing you on the lips, which is even smaller than the pieces
of you that will be spread from Hell to breakfast when Connell catches you,
even so, I AM the Muse of many, many, minds across Eternity.
And all Mind shares one great Basement, and We ancient
ones live down here and always have and always will, and down here, We control.
Do you know how many bodily processes are controlled
by the Unconscious?
I am not even the only Archetype pissed off at you.
Lilith isn't an afficionado of the Comic Spirit, but she and I do have the same
attitude about you. Every single one of my Sisters, Aunts and Cousins thinks
you're Basic Slime and is eager to perform science experiments in your Basement.
Oh, this is going to be such FUN!

To
keep you entertained while your guts learn the Gordian Knot:

Installment #4,
as sung by Carly Simon:

Ed's so vain,
he probly thinks this song is about 'im;
He's so vain!
He probly thinks this song is about 'im,
Dont' he? Don't he?

He told Ellie it was her fault,
That he'd followed her here for love.
All the bodies were her presents;
She was responsible for their luck.
With one eye on the mirror
As he preened his ugly hide

He really thought
she would cry, and believe him,
cry, and believe him

And
Ed's so vain,
he probly thinks this song is about 'im;
He's so vain!
He probly thinks this song is about 'im,
Dont' he? Don't he?

He told Mary Val was wimpy,
She was unlovable, and a clown;
Like all of the scared men in history
Trying to bluster a woman down.
But he gave away his real thoughts,
'Cause he only targets what he fears -

He really thought
he could trouble the lovers
trouble the lovers

And
Ed's so vain,
he probly thinks this song is about 'im;
He's so vain!
He probly thinks this song is about 'im,
Dont' he? Don't he?

He told the City Jack was his partner,
Jack asked him here and played along;
He doesn't know the Po-leece snicker
When they pass his notes around the Squad -
With his brain on tour of Outer Space,
'Cause every planet boots it on,

He really thought
everyone would believe him,
maybe one would believe him,

And
Ed's so vain,
he probly thinks this song is about 'im;
He's so vain!
He probly thinks this song is about 'im,
Dont' he? Don't he?

Excuse
me, Madonna's on the line and I want to get these recordings out right away. You're
going to be SO famous.

Stay tuned ...
Thalia

YooHoo, CruddyCakes!

Isn't
it such a nuisance to handle a knife when your palms keep sweating like that?
Be careful, dear. Between the sweat and the blood, you'll probably drop the
knife. And then, since the Gods of Chaos are also Archetypes and therefore on
My Side, when you reach for the knife, you might grab it wrong, and cut yourself.
Or even, stumble, and fall on your own blade. Oh dear - ANYTHING could happen.
Now, because you never got to finish school and never
managed to finish a book, here's something Literary for your edification:

Installment #5,
The Ed Ode (with thanks to Willam Wordsworth)

Ed Gein is too
much with us; late and soon,
Scratching and sniffing, he lays numb all Taste:
Little he is, and that much is a Waste;
He has given his soul to Hell, a sordid boon!
The skull that grins his bare teeth at the moon;
The demons who are howling at all hours,
Then gather to trouble sleeping ladies' bowers;
All these, and all of Hell, scream, "Ed's a Goon!"
It moves him not. - Dear God, he'd rather be
An Infant suckled, in a diaper torn;
So be it! Thinking on that pleasant scene
Is such a glimpse as makes me less forlorn;
Or better, to sight his Mother, rising, mean,
To drag him Hell-bound by his wrinkled Horn!